


it's the little things

by CosmicDusty



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Gender-neutral Reader, It's mentioned but not in detail, Other, jamie has freckles and it's cute as heck, roadie is mentioned like once, sexual themes no sexual scenes, sorry mako lmao ur a mystery to me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-10-24 18:11:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10747080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CosmicDusty/pseuds/CosmicDusty
Summary: You think you know what you want.  You think wrong.





	it's the little things

**Author's Note:**

> done as a request from tumblr. Junkrat's more subdued in this; my thought was that at this point he's joined Overwatch (likely not of his own volition) and is trying to be good.

It started out as two people just wanting one good lay. That’s all you wanted. All you _want_. 

You met the junker in a bar with his giant of a colleague. Friend? He made eyes at you and after a quick lookover of the lean man, you tipped your head in invitation before heading for the door. You stopped outside to light a smoke while waiting, and while fumbling for your lighter, a match appeared in front of you. You inhaled before letting smoke curl from your lips.  


“Thanks.” You give him a nod. “My place or yours?”  


“Haven’t got one to bring ya to,” he answers.  


So you bring him home with you.

He was good in bed, you’d give him that and only that, at first. You woke up the next morning to find him already gone and thought nothing of it. He had the look of a drifter and you’d never seen him in your town before. Most only stayed the night.  


But the next night you found yourself at the bar again, there he was. Just walking in the door earned you a grin. Your slight smile back got you another mindblowing night.  


It took two more sleepovers for him to stay through the morning. He lay next to you in your little bed, helping himself to one of your smokes.  


“Morning,” you greet him while plucking the cigarette from his lips.  


“Y’ain’t too shy ‘bout finding a man in your bed, are ya?”  


You laugh., “I’ve invited you here the past week. I figured I’d see you in the morning eventually.”  


After finishing your shared smoke, he gets up and pulls on his clothes, not bothering to fix his mussed hair.  


Before he goes, he asks your name. He tells you that his is Jamison.

You don’t go to the bar for a few days. Work keeps you busier than usual and by the end of the day you’re too tired to want to drink or socialize. On the fourth night of this you get a knock on the door right as you’re stripping down to collapse into bed. You can’t be bothered to dress again so you answer it in underwear and a too-large tshirt, so when Jamison gives you a hungry look, ready to pounce, you tug your shirt a little lower and give him a simple, “No.”  


He shrugs. “Alright. Can I still come in?”  


“If you don’t mind going to sleep right away.”  


It feels almost normal when you climb into bed together, his arms wrapping around you tightly. He’s still awake when you drift to sleep; his mind won’t turn off with so many thoughts whizzing around.

It’s been a few months now since Jamison showed up in your tiny little going-nowhere-fast town. You’re… feeling things. Things you’ve never felt with anyone before in this goddamned bubble of a place. Every night you expect him to just not show up, like every other person before him, but every night he comes back, usually bearing beer that tastes like dog piss, sometimes with decent wine. He’s grown reliable, a new routine in your life.  


He’s the first person you’ve slept with and learned little things about. He loves boba milk tea. Mako is his only friend which may or may not be one sided (hard to tell). He has freckles smattered over his cheeks, his shoulders, his chest. You like the mornings when you wake before him and can trace over those freckles with your eyes, or sneak out to surprise him with boba. You like his smile and crazy goddamned laugh, the little crinkles by his eyes. You _like_ him, and you are _terrified_ by that.

Walking usually helps you clear your head enough to work things out, so in the morning you slip out as the sun is rising, pulling on sneakers and filling a water bottle before heading out into the hills. The sun beats down on you and you let your mind wander. When you check your watch it’s been nearly four hours since you left and your bottle is half-empty, so you turn back the way you came.  


You’re sitting down on a boulder for a water break when you hear your name being shouted, and then an agitated, “What the _fuck_?”  
Jamison is running towards you as fast as he’s able, and you stand.  


“Jamie, are you okay? What’s wrong?”  


“Don’t ‘ _what’s wrong_ ’ me. Ya were gone when I woke up, it’s been _hours_. The desert is fucking _dangerous_. What if some lowlife’d found ya? What if ya’d been hurt?”  


You snort. “Jamison, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Besides, I don’t belong to you, I can do what I want.”  


“Not when what ya want is stupid and fucking reckless.”  


You stiffen slightly. “What do you want, Jamison? To control me? You’ve been living in my bed but what _is this_? Are you my fucking boyfriend?”  


He double-takes at that, before snapping, “Do you even know what it’s _like_ to love someone?”  


You see the instant-regret on his face clear as day, but he’s crossed a line. You shove past him, muttering, “Fuck you,” as you go. It’s been an unspoken rule to avoid both of your pasts, a boundary he’s attempted to cross but been gently steered away from. He hadn’t pushed it before though, not really. Apparently any self-restraint he had is gone.  


His hand clamps down on your wrist a little too hard, and it’s fear that’s written in your eyes when you face him. You’re not stupid, and you’re certainly not blind. You own a tv and this man was all over it for a long time, just a couple years back. You realized who he was a couple days after first meeting him. Jamison Fawkes. Junkrat. He’s never given you reason to be afraid of him -- he’s all over the place sometimes but never scary -- but then again you’ve never been in a serious argument with him before.  


But he reads that fear instantly and whips his hand back.  


“I’m sorry, I… I would never hurt you, no matter how frustrated you make me. You know that, right? Fuck, sorry. I’m so sorry.”  


You shake your head and blink away tears that were threatening to fall. “Jamie, you absolute stupid fucking _idiot_. I love _you_. I love you, okay? You didn’t have to be an ass. There’s no one around here stupid enough to mess with the person fucking _Junkrat_ is seeing. There’s no secrets in that town, and no other towns close enough to make it worth coming to. I’ve lived with the wild my whole life. There’s no way I could’ve gotten hurt.”  


He stares at you a second too long before mumbling, “Well I feel like a right drongo.”  


“You should,” you laugh. The kiss he plants on you under the sun is the sweetest you’ve had. It feels like finally finding home.


End file.
